


Remnants of Another's Past

by Xkavonimex (Dragoniped)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragoniped/pseuds/Xkavonimex
Summary: A spiteful Amanda online's the RK900 with a mission for revenge. In her haste, some mistakes and oversights were made.





	Remnants of Another's Past

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be adding more tags later because my phone doesn't want me to add half the ones I tried.
> 
> This is from RK900's point of view and is unbetad.

He came online with sensors going haywire. This was his “birth”, he was now “alive” though not truly, never truly, he was a machine and he had become of use so now he was awake. Every one of his sensors seemed to buzz with feedback that didn’t actually exist, eyes twitching as he tried to distinguish between what was actually there and what was caused by this odd feedback.

An angry voice screamed commands at him, he could almost see her but she was out of reach. Amanda, his data banks supplied almost too late - they were lagging behind their expected speeds, likely because of the shock of coming online and the large amounts of data being uploaded to him.

“You are a state of the art model and you possess all available information, make sure you complete your mission.” Amanda sounded angry, his processor supplied, analysing the small inflections and cadences on her voice. The analysis continued, uninterrupted, as he began the calibrations - moving his body according to unspoken commands as though he had done this multiple times before. He hadn’t, he couldn’t have but the familiarity of this new body ran the subroutines with unparalleled simplicity.

Data flooded past his eyes, memories of a machine he’d never met. The android had served a similar function, investigating cases at speeds close to what his algorithms told him he could accomplish. Time and experience would make him quicker, he was an advanced prototype after all.

Having completed his calibration, he adjusted his jacket and gave a small scan of his surroundings - nothing unexpected or of interest. The voice in his head had quieted from her screaming and the buzz across his inputs had calmed considerably; he was ready.

“RK900, repeat your mission objective.” Amanda’s voice rang out, tense and authoritative.  
“Eliminate the defective RK800 and his accomplice.” The words hovered in his peripheral, a constant reminder.

“Correct. Do whatever you have to do to, do not fail.” The emphasis on the last words conveyed a hidden threat that didn’t need speaking . He was hunting down someone who had already betrayed her, it wouldn’t be hard to reverse those positions.

“Understood.”

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

The memories filled in gaps that seemed to serve no purpose. The map he had accessed already had the route and destination but the memories almost seemed to want to tell a story of the surroundings.

There was a crack coming up on his left, it would have no effect on his progress but seemed significant enough for the RK800 to commit to memory. Sumo - an old St Bernard belonging to the Lieutenant the RK800 was paired with - was particularly fond of the fence on the side street to the left for reasons unknown. Glancing down the street brought phantom sensations of something grasped in his hand, tugging softly with the faintest whine carrying on the wind - when had he stopped?

Ignoring the input seemed to only disrupt his sensors more, causing slight buzzes and vibrations. It felt as though they were preparing themselves in anticipation of what was to come. The notion seemed too fake, too human to be true, but the logical conclusions came soon enough: unfamiliarity with the body; preparation of different components for the fight and of course continued calibration - you could only be the best for so long without improving after all.

His destination seemed to take forever to arrive. The building was just as expected; the combination of downloaded memories and information making it seem like he’d been here before - hopefully the familiarity would help.

Fortunately, the door was unlocked when he arrived so he didn’t need to look for an alternate entrance. This hardly factored in, numerous possible exits had been decided before arrival with the window having already been tried and tested by his predecessor. The lieutenants lack of self preservation could only serve to hasten the missions completion. 

Sumo was the first to greet him upon entering, but that was more of a coincidence than an attempt at greeting or defense. The dog was lazing in the living room doorway, seemingly comfortable on the shaggy carpet. Even the presence of the gun barrel against the dogs temple did little to perturb the elderly dog, his ears shifting slightly as he looked up at him. Eye contact like this between humans and their pets or other humans released oxytocin, helping to increase the bond between them, but what did they see when they looked into the eyes of an android? He didn’t shoot.

The questions were strange and unwarranted, likely caused by his overprocessing of input and simultaneous research. It was something that would need to be closer monitored and controlled in the future. He would have to include it in his report if it proved more of an issue.

Moving into the living room confirmed more of his suspicions: Connor was not here. The RK800 seemed to express clearly distaste in the lieutenant’s poor self care, going as far as risking missions to see to his safety. As such, it seemed unlikely he would allow the man to pass out on his sofa in such a state. He also would have heard the door opening so the lack of confrontation only further supported his conclusion - this would make things easier.

Hank Anderson was (or had recently been) inebriated and was sprawled in a clearly uncomfortable and detrimental position. The short and long term effect of such habits were- they were of little use to the mission but his advanced processor still felt it necessary to make them known. He showed no reaction to any movement, even as the RK900 came to stand in front of him. Only as the gun was raised to point at him did he begin to stir.

“... Connor?” A hazy, sleepy voice asked - the owner clearly more asleep than awake. It was an oversight on his part, the motions might have been slow and methodical but blocking he hadn’t considered the effects of the television screen’s light. 

That was a lie, a lie to justify a puerile mistake. If he had truly wished to deal with this quickly, he would have had ample opportunity to do so upon entering - the shot could have been made with high accuracy only steps away from the door. For whatever reason he hadn’t, not yet, he wasn’t about to throw away the mission because of this hesitation. To err is human but he was not, he would not allow this mission to fail because of avoidable mistakes.

“No.” The word was an afterthought, answering a question that had been left to hang to the air but served to make use of his mistake. Priority: Locate RK800.

It was enough, fortunately, to startle the man; he came to his senses soon enough. Surprisingly sober - or possibly functioning at levels of clarity only a dependant alcoholic could manage at that level of alcohol consumption. He held his hands out in a placating gesture, slowly standing (he allowed it, the distance and weapon gave him the advantage) but not daring to take a step.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Hank made no attempt to hide his hatred - his processor likening it to the first meeting with the RK800 before the lieutenant got over his deep seated hatred of androids.

“I am the RK900,” he answered in an attempt at civility, hopefully it would be enough to get the information he needed, “I require the location of the RK800 known as Connor.” Hank scoffed.

“Fat chance, why would I give that to you?” The arrogance in his words showed a clear disregard to his safety, bringing a simple question to mind.

“Do you care more for his safety then your own life?” He made a point to train the gun on his head, having kept it around level with his chest when the lieutenant chose to stand. He couldn’t understand why the man insisted on smiling despite that.

“I care more about not helping a plastic prick like you.” He folded his arms as if to emphasize that point.

Connections, parallels and ideas continued to be made as he thought how to overcome this scenario, memories of a lake being especially prevalent. It had been cold, Hank had been drinking - he always was, and the positions had been reversed. He, the RK800 he reminded himself (it wasn’t him, never him), had a gun trained on his head as he was asked a question.

“Are you afraid to die?” The words sounded odd as he said them, as though his vocal components had to force the words out. It was uncomfortable.

“I’m not afraid of you.” The response was simple, curt. The lieutenant, Hank, walked forwards, there was confidence in his steps that went beyond the challenging glare.

Some part of him wanted to call out to his friend and tell him not to, to protect himself, to do anything else, but the more rational side reminded him that it wasn’t him that wanted it. It was a defective model, inherited memories he had only to use and learn from - all that mattered was the mission.

If that was true, why was pulling the trigger so hard?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm likely going to continue this but it depends how this one is received - I've already got some ideas in case and more fics planned regardless.
> 
> I hope to hear what you thought (even if it's just to point out my mistakes).


End file.
